I've been thinking about this word a great deal as the trial of He-Who-Must-Be-Named has been unfolding and causing a partial fog to descend on Toronto and the rest of Canada.
Even though I found the defense details and the misogynist finger-wagging deeply disturbing, I kept listening to the radio. At times, the experience was like watching a cobra uncoil and feeling paralyzed from the venomous bites. Heartsick about the coverage, considering a predator was allowed to flourish.
This winter in Toronto has been so mild in terms of temperature, (compared to the last, the coldest one on record for 150 years) but it brought a chill into our hearts.
Pappy says I shouldn't pay attention to things that will upset me so much.
I tell Pappy, "Not paying attention is not an option. Was never an option. At times, all I can do is bear witness and it certainly doesn't feel like enough."
One more thing. The truest sentence I read last year came from The Manifest Station, from advice written by Elisabeth Fairfield Stokes:
"Our bodies hold our stories; every last little thing that has ever happened to us, been said to us, everything we've witnessed, it's there: be gentle."